Save the Clinic! Episode 19
THEY WERE TWO OF A KIND.
Nicky and Nancy had a lot in common. They were both blonde, and beautiful. and married to hardworking husbands. Most of all, they were cheating on them by betraying their race fucking black men like whores.
Taking up a room at the Black Owned Motel, the white girls lay next to each other on the bed, their legs spread wide apart. Holding each other's hand, the wives were on their backs as each had a black lover fucking them madly. It was reparations and much needed retribution for what their husbands had planned by closing the Elimination Clinic.
Nicky was 25 years old with a slender and athletic body. She had nice breasts that would fill a handful. Her dark blonde hair was often in a neat ponytail. Nicky had turned into a racial justice warrior and at first, it was all about fighting racism. Soon after, it was about her sexual obsessions with black men. African migrants, the inner city thugs, the old bulls and young, they had free use to her pussy. She was married to Sam, a middle manager at the PORG, who had an important role in redeveloping the Brickyards. When she learned her husband was complicit in his business's plan to close down the abortion clinic, Nicky took steps to betray him, his work, and her marriage.
Nancy was also 25 years old and cut from the same privileged white cloth as Nicky. She was blonde with hair to the bottom of her shoulders. Extremely attractive and beyond cute, she lived an affluent lifestyle. With a great, fit figure, she was long proud of her breasts and firm ass since her teen years. Nancy had discovered the pleasures of black cock while volunteering at the local high school bazaar. While she tried at times to resume a life of a faithful wife, her need for sex from dominant black men kept her coming back like a drug addict. Her husband, Brad, was also an up-and-coming employee of the PORG. Brad had worked tirelessly weekends and nights. In his stupidity and quest for money, Nancy had found the opportunity to explore her sexuality and feed her carnal appetite. She appreciated Brad's hard work, and his ******'s money, to fund their beyond-their-means lifestyle. However, none of it could sway her decision to become a black cock slut. Nancy had her priorities.
The men in the room cursed and grunted. They stood with their bare feet planted on the carpet and throwing their loins into their white girl Both of their hands gripped the ankles of the white girl laying before him. The men had one reason to share a room with them … to fuck, “get off”, and feel relief. They did not come to the motel to make friends but to use white girls as obligating cum dumpsters. The wives provided pussy to two of the most respected men in the black advocacy community. They were physically fit, and aggressive but most of all … they passionately hated their white race. This is why Nicky volunteered to please them. The black men deserved it! She wanted to pay her racial debts and convinced Nancy to join because this would “save the clinic”.
Nasir had his cock deep inside Nancy. They shared a union of interracial harmony on the black man's terms. Nasir was in his late twenties and a captain for The Black Power Movement. He was known for leading rallies, protesting white-owned businesses, and being a wonderful and prolific lover. While Nancy was indeed a beautiful knock-out, Nasir had one or two every day like her. His only interest was how she would empty his balls.
Malik Ajoonte was fucking Nicky with his massive cock nearly a foot long. Malik was described as 6 foot, 2 inches tall, strong and toned and in his late 20's. A “thug” by white people's standards, he was a hunter who had a taste for white women. He sported a little goatee and enjoyed wearing new, bright athletic shoes when he wasn't naked having sex. Malik was also a very dangerous man who would be in prison if not for legal advocates who repeatedly came to his defense. Malik needed to fuck. His hate for the white race and everything it stood for fueled his disdain for the evil, corrupt race. However, he would fuck their women and especially the married ones. Malik threw his hips into Nicky hearing her struggle with moans feeling his fleshy meat make its way into her womb.
“Let's see those wedding rings, ladies!” yelled Malik who wanted to see proof of black supremacy over white people. The wives moaned and turned their heads from side to side but managed to raise their left hands, showing their rings to their black-bull lovers. Nasir laughed and joined in celebrating black pride. Nasir smiled, shook his head, and scoffed at the white girls as “Race traitor whores”. Nasir leaned into Nancy's and wanted her to confess “Tell me you're a slut.” he said. Nancy squealed helplessly and the truth blurted out, “I'm a slut!” Nasir replied with a forceful push of his loins and a deep grunt making Nancy groan again.
Meanwhile, Malik slammed forward again and again in his violent rhythm. Nicky felt nothing but dick inside her. She felt more black than white than anytime in her life. Nicky yelled out, “Fuck me! I want that abortion clinic saved! I'll do anything!” she pleaded. Her wokeness made Malik smile, “Yeah … and you'll fuck day and night, right?”
Nicky nodded like a crack addict agreeing to anything to get her fix. “I want abortions day and night! End white racism!” she cried before falling into another delirious state in orgasm.
The men pulled out in unison and tapped their heavy cocks against spread, wet pussy. The wanted to exchange places and fuck the other girl. Nicky and Nancy rolled on their sides before propping up on their knees and elbows. Both were gasping for air taking advantage of the short break for relief. When Nancy put her palms flat on the mattress, she turned to Nicky and asked, “This keeps the clinic open?” she wondered. Nicky nodded once and looked back at Nancy. Nicky put her hand on top of Nancy's head and replied. “It does. Now, shut up and keep your head down!”
TEAGAN T. KAYCE
should have been working on her story if not spending time with her husband. Instead, she was naked on her knees in Keyshawn's bedroom. Keyshawn had his seat on his bed, his knees spread wide apart. Teagan knelt between his thighs wearing a big smile on her face. Her hands caressed his blessed manhood. She looked up and grinned and winked at her black lover. Keyshawn's sphincter underneath was still slick and sticky from the ass-licking Teagan's tongue had given it.
Teagan was an up and coming television news reporter for Inner City 6. The controversy and racism surrounding the Brickyards story made her recognized personality especially in the activist community. Teagan was 28 year old with with long, slightly wavy blonde hair. She used her attractiveness to get in front of a camera of a struggling news station and waited for her moment to step into the spotlight. Although she was married and was raised in a rural state, she abandoned her quiet, conservative values for something more progressive, more right. All in return for a story and little short-term fame. White racism and abortion access was all it took to give her the notoriety she sought after. Teagan was taken in by The Black Power Movement and switched convictions. White eliminations of pregnancy out of racial justice was something she believed in. Teagan could no longer act silent or behave white society expected her to behave. So, she sided with African and black cultures willing surrendered as their sex whore.
Keyshawn was an athletic black man in his mid 20's. He was an entrepreneur, a retired football player, and very magnetic. Living in his luxurious condominium of Cherry Vista, he hosted many different white girls for nothing more than sexual pleasures. While he did have a penchant for “pro 'hoes”, he wouldn't resist a married white girl if it promoted black power. Keyshawn wasn't the activist but he wouldn't neglect his racial duty as a black man to better his people. Especially, if he gets to release his fertile frustrations into a white woman. The local news had long known of rumors of the many children he had fathered with white women. None of them had come forward.
Teagan giggled again while giving Keyshawn's black cock little, loving kisses up and down its shaft. “Gawd, I love black people!” she said to him. Keyshawn approved and nodded at the cheating television personality. “I want sex with a black woman. I want to be her bitch!” Teagan confessed. It came out of nowhere … this newfound desire and sexual need. Teagan felt relieved to spill out her deepest racial wants to a black man. Keyshawn whispered back, “I know several sisters who could use a white girl. They're rough tho' and the whole world will know you eat black pussy!” he warned her. Teagan it off and answered, “I don't care.”
Teagan lowered her head and gave Keyshawn his blowjob. The blonde needed the feeling of black meat in her mouth. She felt incomplete without it. Her submissive position on the floor with his cock in her mouth was everything Keyshawn was entitled to. “Suck that black cock, white girl! You cheating, fucking slut!” he bellowed. Teagan plopped his dick out from over her tongue long enough to reply, “Yes, sir.” Keyshawn put his left hand on top of Teagan's head and bucked his hips, fucking her face. His lust was fueled with excitement and frustration. “... fuck … fuck … fuck ...” he repeated. All Teagan wanted was to be a sex puppet for the handsome black man. She rolled her eyes and went empty headed. She started to choke and thick gobs of spit ran down Keyshawn's shaft. Teagan let out a few coughs. “You okay?” Keyshawn asked like a gentleman. Teagan nodded, “I just love your cock so much!” she answered, “I can't get enough.”
Teagan climbed on top Keyshawn not wanting to wait to get fucked. Her mobile phone started ringing. It could have been from her work or husband. Both lovers ignored it. There was something more important to do. Teagan straddled him while grabbing his needy cock with her right hand aiming for her hot, moist spot between her legs.
Keyshawn grabbed Teagan's breasts with each hand. They felt more sensitive to her than usual. Teagan felt the penetration and let out a sigh of much needed relief. The nuisance ringing stopped. The couple was free to fight racism in peace. The digital noise echoing the room was replaced with human moans of eroticism and racial bliss.
CASSANDRA
had much to celebrate. She had earned an audience with the most heralded leader of The Black Power Movement, Akin Kalu. The attorney representing the PORG and its racist plans felt confident she found a way to settle with the activist organization that would both save the company's reputation as well as guarantee the abortion clinic catering to white women continue operation day and night. She was a married, 32 year old blonde with dark streaks. She carried envious measurements 34D-21-34 and 5'6" suitable for a porn star. Cassandra worked hard for years through university, law school, and finally her practice to make success from her hard work and intelligence. However, Cassandra traded it all overnight when she met JaMarcus, a manager of a strip club.
“Cassie” turned into a stripper. The type who dances on stage in front of black men throwing money at her before escorting them to the private room where she indulged in prostitution. It started academic enough. Cassandra needed to understand how to behave when black supremacy was a growing and an accepted movement. She wanted to learn what black men wanted. When she learned it was “pussy” she gladly started taking up new habits.
With a new career inside the Black Fantasies Lounge located in the Red Light District, she was welcomed by her fellow dancers. In the back room, Cassie leaned back in a chair naked with her legs spread. It was a ritual initiating her as a “stripper-whore”. One by one, the other dancers licked her pussy and called her “black cock slut”, “whore”, and “dumb, white girl”. Cassie loved every word that described what she always needed to be. Meanwhile, Cassie was sucking on Anna's large breast trying to milk it. It was a loving, kind moment as Anna combed Cassie's blonde hair with her fingers. “That's it, honey. Take your time.” Anna told her.
Anna was nearly 40 with brown hair to her shoulders. She was very fit for her age having taken care of herself. In her recent years, her breasts enlarged like honeydew melons. With firm, tight hips, she easily attracted the eyes of black men. Led down the path paved with lust and cocaine, she followed her 18 year old ********, June, who too was stripper at the Black Fantasies Lounge and unashamed coke-addict.
Last to take her turn between Cassie's thighs was The Goth Girl. A thin-framed 24 year old, she had the blackest hair, a nose ring attached to her right nostril, and wore black platform shoes. The lounge's assistant manager, she would sometimes take the stage if the club was especially crowded or the ladies were too busy servicing the patrons in back. Appearing bored, Goth Girl seemed irritated to be part of the ceremony. She thought Cassandra was stuck up and acted too-good for the place. However, she knelt and went through with it. Goth Girl spat on Cassie's bare-shaven pussy slick with the spit from others and began licking and twirling the clit with her tongue. Hearing Cassie coo and moan made her more passionate lapping cunt. The Goth Girl's disdain she once had for the intruding, conceited blonde was changing into something more. Goth Girl pulled on Cassie's clit with her lips before rubbing it with her right palm. She so much wanted to insult and belittle the white girl, “Slut! Fucking black guys left and right like a race-traitor whore … you're just good for a fuck ... black fucking cock slut!” Her white-pride-trashing words put Cassie into a furious orgasm. Goth Girl looked to hate on Cassie more by sticking two fingers into her tight pussy and twisting them making everyone to see how sexually insatiable she was. “Gawd-damn! You love what I'm doing to you!”
The other dancers in the dressing room witnessed and covered their mouths in erotic surprise. Even Anne stepped back and put an arm around her ********. Cassie bucked and sat up and open-mouthed kissed Goth Girl. They groped each other and their tongues danced. Goth Girl's top came off and Cassie pulled down her shorts. As if they were following a script, they casually exchanged places. This time, Cassie was between Goth Girl's thighs and started eating pussy. Cassie let out deep hungry groans feeling sexual and spiritual pleasures.
“Oh … fuck … oh … shit … oh fuck ...” Goth Girl rambled and her thighs shook.
Porsche walked over and wiped the sweat off of Goth Girl's forehead. “What's happening to you?” Porsche asked. Porsche was a 20-something blonde making a living at the club and one of more experienced dancers there. Goth Girl looked up at Porsche but might as well had stared into the ceiling lights and said, “I'm fuc-ck-ing cumming!” Her voice was broken and her eye rolled before she pulled Cassie up until they were nose-to-nose.
“I love you.” whispered Cassie who looked deep into Goth Girl's eyes “I … love … you.” she said again.
“What, you're a lesbian now?” Goth Girl asked.
Cassie nodded and smiled. The girls kissed again, their tongues danced, the room cheered.
“You're so fucking beautiful!” Goth Girl said to Cassie.
After the girls finished their embrace, Cassie got a text message that interrupted the couple's moment. It wasn't the salacious one that was bouncing around Black Pine. This message came from offices of The Black Power Movement confirming the time and place for Cassie's meeting. It was scheduled late in the evening set in one of the penthouses inside the Black Paradise hotel. Until then, Cassie had some whoring to do!
KATHLEEN
finished her long drive from Inner City. It was a satisfying meeting with her black “VIPs” and she agreed to return in a week for a gang bang. Her breasts were sore from all the groping and she guessed her ass was red from all the smacks from black palms. Kathleen's pussy felt stretched and filled with cum inside. When she returned home in the heart of the Wealthy Corridor in Black Pine, she hurried to her opulent bathroom, stripped naked and stood in front of her mirror. Kathleen saw “Kat” staring back at her. Kat was a whore, fucked in the head like she was fucked in body. Kathleen caressed her sticky, used body from her breasts to her bare pussy. She found the courage to look at herself again. “You're a total slut.” she sneered to herself. The business, the company founded by her husband was the last thing on her mind. Flashing images of men … black men went through her emptied head. Cock going into her mouth, pussy, and ass … tit groping … ass slapping … the dirty names … the smacking of hard cock against her face … both recent memories and wishes for the her future.
Then Kathleen heard her husband, Olde, struggle from his room. She wrapped her body in an expensive silk robe still smelling of sex and covered with blotches of sweat and man-cum. Kathleen rushed in. His life-extending machines played a chorus of beeps and wails. She held his hand and his coughing and lurching subsided. For that moment, Kathleen felt sorrow. She couldn't imagine not becoming the black-cock whore she turned into. However, she never wanted to hurt Olde or the PORG legacy. Kathleen prayed that the company could go on in the current social environment, keep her husband alive a little longer, while giving her the opportunity disappear for a few tricks.
Kathleen's phone pinged. Olde popped his eyes opened and pointed to the ceiling. Kathleen let go of Olde's hand, stepped back, and read her text message. It was Tremaine. He wanted her to get cleaned up and head over to his place. His text finished with “i'm gonna fuck u”. Kathleen nodded calmly and understood. She couldn't resist groping a breast through her robe in front of her husband. Kathleen rubbed her knees together and began feeling giddy. Her black man was going to give her attention. Maybe, she'll have some soft of a relationship with her pimp after all.
THE BLACK FANTASIES LOUNGE
was busy in the early evening. The music was rhythmic playing the latest trending rap. The girls were dancing on stage, paying patrons a visit at their tables before pulling them into the back VIP room. One by one, Black Pine's finest, most affluent and powerful men stepped inside. The African “warlord” looking man with mirrored glasses returned with his entourage dressed in business suits. He couldn't be missed with his bright tunic. The Warlord took his seat against the wall in the far corner and caught Cassie's eye as she performed on stage side by side with G.G., the Goth Girl. G.G didn't want to separate from her new girlfriend and volunteered to be “one of the girls” and perform on stage and in the back room. G.G thought this would make their new relationship stronger. To make it work, they needed to satisfy their strong heterosexual desires.
Cassie didn't realize a call was made ahead to reserve her entire shift. After each stage appearance of one song, she was called to take one from the entourage of four to the VIP room. She would participate doing her part in another black victory over the white race. The men were especially polite and soft spoken up to the moment they were naked with a stiff cock hungry for pussy. Not a single one used a condom. She would never offend them by asking. Cassie figured they were here for access to her womb and they were entitled to it. Each member of the Warlord's party was sexually aggressive and experienced. Cassie was rightfully dominated and treated like a sex object.
Black dick pushed inside her with great passion. Her pussy was busy stretched with throbbing black cock pulsating with veins racing with hot blood. They lunged inside trying to make it a part of her. Cassie moaned and struggled but willingly surrendered her body each time. She could feel their black pride and often disdain for her weaker, white race. “Yes!” Cassie would blare out knowing and understanding how truly fucked the white race was. Cassie looked up into the black mesh hiding the observation room above. She imagined one of the moving silhouettes was starting at her from behind mirrored glasses. Cassie turned to her head and saw her girlfriend, G.G, pleasing a client with her ankles over his shoulders. If this was black utopia she would do anything for a place in it. Suddenly, white surrender and subjugation as a sub-citizen seemed appealing and morally right.
Cassie's men finishing by covering her with their cum. They dumped on her face, tits, in her mouth, and unprotected pussy. Whatever the man wanted. When a session was over and her private “customer” satisfied, he resumed his politeness and called her “Miss Cassie.” The men were also very generous giving her a cash bonus privately in the shadows.
When Cassie stepped out each time from the VIP room she would exchange glances with the Warlord. It was hard to tell if he was looking back from behind his sunglasses. She was strangely curious wondering if he would take his turn with her. Or maybe, he would pick another white girl to spend money on. On her way to the dressing room, Cassie was tempted to walk up and speak to him. However, JaMarcus would always rush her to “clean up and get back to makin' money.”
As the evening wore, G.G had enough in the VIP room. She couldn't keep up with Cassie's pace and popularity. As the evening went into the night, Cassie was on all fours with the last of the Warlord's escorts. It must have been the last of them. Her legs, knees, and jaw were sore but it felt so good and so right to be fucked. The once wholesome wife and hardworking attorney was in a red-hued world of money, seductive rap music, and sex. Cassie begged her customer, “Fuck that pussy, baby! I belong to the black race!”
Her generous gentleman simply replied, “Bless the black man.”
Cassie's session was ending with her face down into the couch muffling her struggling moans. She pinned her arms straight back where she held both hands with her lover. Fucking her from behind, Cassie resembled a life-sized sex doll with holes in all the right places. She let out short grunts in rhythm with her ass suspended in air and a big, black cock inside her. He let go of her hands and bucked ahead with powerful might. Slam-slam-fuck! When he felt his much needed release racing through his manhood, he calmly pulled out, spun Cassie around and came on her face leaving behind puddles of white goo on her nose, cheek, and tongue.
Cassie's customer said to her, “You are the slut they said you were.” Wiping her face and licking her fingers, Cassie looked up with wide, round eyes and nodded. She then looked at the tip of his plump cock-head and was in awe what it did to her. Cassie leaned forward and gave it a soft, tender kiss.
When Cassie stepped out of the VIP room, the Warlord and the rest of his entourage had gone. She only caught a glimpse of her most recent patron, fully dressed, disappear towards the exit. There was a loud roar from the crowd and Cassie looked to the stage. Anna and June were there groping each other's breast and giving each other a kiss. The place loved it and showered them with balls of one-dollar bills. Cassie stepped inside the dressing room where G.G was finishing putting on her knee-high boots. The girls embraced and kissed each other with open mouths. “You need to get cleaned up!” said G.G Cassie grinned and realized, “Oh, my gawd! I gotta go get ready for my meeting with the BPM!”
“Good luck!” said G.G who followed with “Call me after … we have to fuck … hot, girl on girl style!” Cassie knew G.G was right. They had to seal their new found love and relationship with uninhibited lesbian sex. Life was moving fast for Cassie. She was becoming a hot and successful property at the club … getting all the black dick a white girl needed to keep her sanity. She was closing in on the well publicized case with The Black Power Movement. Cassie would become the most prominent lawyer in the city. Now, she was starting up new romance with a woman where she never considered same-sex relationship before. If this was life under black power she was an all-in-believer and willing to do more.
VERONICA
had long made it back to her simple one-bedroom apartment. She had spent the afternoon in a room at the Migrant Hotel with Piper. After Timmy was humiliated on the parking lot, a pair of Africans escorted Veronica and Piper to their room to celebrate. Veronica had still the taste of cum in her mouth from a recent blow job she gave out in the open in front of cheering refugees. As soon as she and Piper stepped inside the room their clothes dropped to the floor. Little was needed to be said and the white girls were fucked, before trading places, and fucked again. They were used to sooth African needs and desires for physical and racial satisfaction.
Veronica left the hotel hours ago but Piper chose to stay behind. Her young intern wanted to visit the room next door and score more dick. Veronica guessed Piper's cunt was ruined after the royal fucking she received from Sipho and another from an anonymous migrant on the lot. However, Piper's libido went into over drive. Her hatred of her ex, Timmy, reached new heights and she desperately tried to work it out by fucking one black man after another.
Veronica laid in her tub taking a long, warm soak. With a glass of red in her hand, she kept thinking how Piper screamed out “I hate white boys! I hate all white men!”. Veronica smirked, taking pride how she turned the once meek intern into a race betraying whore and slut. Veronica massaged her well-stretched pussy and sighed. She felt good about herself because her pussy was so satisfied. Black men, Africans or not, had superior physical and emotional skills that made them bulls … black gods! Veronica continued dreaming about black culture and the hold it had over her and many in her life. There was no escape for someone like pathetic Timmy too, who was living a life under the black power fist. Veronica reached for her phone and pulled up music, explicit rap music with heavy bass. As soon as she heard the beats, she felt dreamy and relaxed. She felt comfortable with the lyrics and never gave them a second thought.
A male lead with a deep voice made demands of his listener and promised street justice and fucking white racism. “Reparations now! Reparations now!” While Veronica bobbed her head to the music, one could have looked at her convinced she was nodding, agreeing to the message. Black Dick 3, a local favorite followed next.
Rip off them clothes white girl!
On your knees and bend over (I need it) …
On your knees and bend over (you'll love it) …
Ugh, ugh, ugh take that cock
- Black Dick 3
Veronica put down her glass, nearly empty, when she started feeling aroused. With one hand, she began massaging a breast. The other hand reached for her pussy. The moment quickly turned into one of self pleasure when she thought about black power. Veronica let out an erotic gasp at the thought of being a common whore in a black utopia where black supremacy reigns. She tapped her clit and felt electricity shooting up her spine. The idea of giving up all rights to the black race excited her!
“Gawd, I fuckin' hate white racism!” she cursed.
“Gawd-damn, yes! I want reparations for the black people!” she promised.
“I love black power! I love The Movement!” she cheered.
You're here to serve our race.
Dirty white girl. Dirty white girl.
Get on your knees and suck black cock!
Suck that cock. Suck my cock!
We're here to fuck you.
Here to fuck you, white girl.
Dirty white girl
- Black Dick 3
Veronica made one last good squeeze of her right breast before she stood up in her tub. She was a proud race-traitor and let out a deep breath. “We have to save the Elimination Clinic!” Veronica was turning into a well-adjusted racial justice warrior. Out of all the things she could be dreaming of while alone naked at home, she was hoping for more abortions for the women of her race. Veronica promised herself she'd dedicate more of herself to the black race. More of her time, more of her body, more sex. “We must … we need … we deserve abortions.”
Veronica walked to the bedroom and rummaged through her purse and pulled out what looked like a joint hand-rolled with crinkled sun-bleached paper. It was about 4 inches long and not usually the sort of thing an office manager would be walking around with. This was different times. It was a gift from the African migrants. It was not just “weed” but called “African Spice”. What it was made from was an urban legend. Some said it was hashish with “special ingredients” from African lands and blessed by witch doctors. Other conspiracy theorists claim its origins from a pharmaceutical lab financed by African oil barons. Either way, African Spice was tailored to soothe and comfort the African. Much how alcohol or dairy are processed differently, the “Spice” had different chemical reactions between the races and genders. It was rumored to be especially effective on white women. Storytellers spoke tales how African Spice helped defeat and conquer white colonists out of the dark continent.
The stories may have been anecdotal or psychosomatic. They may even had added to its legend. No one doubted the Spice re-wired the brain. It was especially effective on white women who became more sexually demanding needing men who were aggressive and dominating. Life-long upbringing on white ideals were abandoned with a puff of smoke. They were ready to drop their panties and spread their legs for black men. Most of all, they had curiously sudden love for the black race and their men while hating their own. They would dress and behave more black-friendly and changed their social and political beliefs overnight with help of black lovers. In short time, even the most uptight, frigid, conservative white woman would turn into a race-traitor, whore and slut serving the black race and his black utopia.
Veronica took out a lighter, normally used for candles, and sat back in her chair in the living room. She laid back, took a deep breath, and spread her legs. Veronica was looking forward to the experience and becoming a new woman. As luck would have it, at the moment she was about to ignite a flame from her lighter, a weak knock rapped on her door. Veronica paused, held her breath and wondered if was her neighbor's door but after a few moments of peace, the raps returned.
“... nok … nok … nok ...”
Veronica tucked her Spice and lighter away and answered “... be right there !” while running to throw on a bathrobe. She was anxious, nervous, and a little pissed off someone would come knocking when she was needing the rest after a long day of sexual exercise and race healing. Veronica ran to the door, opened it just an inch to peer at who was at her door.
It was her husband, Andy.
MEANWHILE,
Kenneth was noticing how Cassandra was becoming distant and aloof since she started researching “black culture”. He was too scared to even think about the idea that his younger wife could be doing away from home. Kenneth found himself standing in the middle of the bedroom looking through the bathroom's open doorway watching Cassandra prim herself in front of the mirror. Kenneth was both ogling and staring at her with grief. His wife was obviously narcissistic and giving her reflection all of her love and attention at the moment. Kenneth had to watch Cassandra, now Cassie, glide her hands over her outfit made of a mini-skirt and tube top. Her wardrobe especially picked out by her boutique for her meeting with Akin Kalu.
Kenneth complained about Cassandra's behavior, her outfits, and how the case with The Black Power Movement was affecting her and their marriage. When Kenneth griped about not having sex, Cassie blurted out a laugh. She shook her head and giggled. Cassie didn't think enough of Kenneth to bother telling him his wife became a whore for black men and a very proud race traitor. In fact, it made her feel good and dirty leaving her cuckold in the dark about his wife.
“I've learned so much at the club about myself and my race. “ Cassie raved, “The girls work so hard there to please our black gods … the black men … whoo! They're so fuckin' sexy and aggressive!”
Kenneth heart sunk. He didn't believe how he was hearing his dear wife praise black men as gods. “What have gotten into you, Cassandra?” he asked meekly. Cassie resisted the double entendre but giggled at herself of what “gotten into her”. “What do you do there?” Kenneth asked. He had mustered all his strength to know what Cassandra was doing late nights in the Red Light District.
“I was taught how to behave in front of black men. Now, I'm ready to meet the Chairman of The Black Power Movement. Me, a worthless white girl.” Cassie explained. She snickered and lifted her mini-skirt over her thigh. “Do you want to know how? Do you? Huh?” Cassandra teased Kenneth by raising her skirt more just enough to hint she was wearing a pink g-string. Kenneth looked and away and put his hand up protesting the strip tease. “No, I don't want to hear!”
“It's no big deal, honey!” Cassie proudly removed her clothes and let them drop to the bathroom floor. Standing in front of her husband she said very clinically, “See? This is what they need, white boy!” Kenneth looked and saw his wife unashamed but couldn't help notice her shaved pussy. Too ashamed of himself to say anything, Kenneth turned his head and looked at the floor.
“Go visit your sister at Inner City for a couple days?” Cassie suggested, “I don't need distractions while I'm about to settle with The Black Power Movement. “ she added but couldn't hesitate finishing with “... and while I'm busy repairing the racial damage my client and our race is responsible for ... we're definitely not having sex!”
Cassie closed the bathroom door between her and Kenneth. Kenneth was left standing alone hearing rap music playing from Cassandra's phone.
Ha-Ha, White Boy!
We got your girl now
We got your girl now
She's ours now
We're fucking her now
- Black Dick 3
ANDY
sat on Veronica's couch. His bouquet of flowers picked up from a local convenience store lying on the coffee table in need of water. Andy was full of smiles holding his wife's hand. It had been too long since he saw his wife. Too long since he put his penis inside her. Meanwhile, Veronica had a stunned look on her face. Her free, left hand fidgeting the top of her robe to hide her cleavage.
“I'm so happy I can see you again!” Andy praised. He went on boring Veronica about how much he missed her before man-splaining what he wanted to hear from her. “Are you ready to move out and come with me? I can't wait until I tell management I've accepted their offer!”
Veronica jumped to her feet and pulled on her wrists. Her mouth went dry and she could feel her lips chafe. “Leave Black Pine? You were serious?” she asked. Andy stood up and helped himself to Veronica's side. The new money and a career boost clicked his sex drive and white confidence. “Yes, Veronica!” he said loudly and turned his wife by her hips so she could face him. “Every night we can be together in the same bed!” he promised.
Veronica's mouth opened and she showed pained horror at the idea of sharing the bed with him every night. She could have cried right there. What would the black community think of her? When she placed both her palms on Andy's meek chest, she exposed some of her cleavage. Veronica barely said, “Andy, we have to talk ...” before her husband attacked her with his grubby hands and greedy eyes!
“Oh, honey! I need you so much!” he complained as he moved in to kiss her. Veronica turned away but Andy put his lips to her smooch her neck.
“No, no, no … we can't do this!” Veronica protested, “I don't want to do this!” she continued. Andy reached in with his left hand and squeezed one of her breasts. Veronica felt awkward, uncomfortable, and wrong. When Andy's right hand helped itself to her ass, grabbing it, Veronica was sickened and had enough and started pleading excuses, “I have a headache!” and “It isn't right if we do this!” However, when Andy didn't stop his advance, she blurted out “I don't want to have sex with you! I want sex with other men!”.
One could hear a pin drop! Andy's “sex” drive instantly petered out. He frowned and stepped back and asked, “What … did you say?”
Veronica cleared her throat and quickly covered herself with her robe. “I said, I fuck other men.”
“What men? Why?” Andy asked.
Veronica replied, “Well, Andy … black men.” She clearly emphasized “men” as in many. “We're separated and I need sex. You understand?”
Andy complained, “We were never 'separated'. We just were apart while I got my career on track.” Veronica shook her head and corrected Andy's take on their marital history, “No, we were clearly apart living separate lives. I need my own life and its one with frequent sex!”
Andy put his left hand on his heart feeling it had fluttered unnaturally. For the moment he didn't know where he was or the woman he was speaking with. He let out an exhausted and defeated gasp. “Frequent, Veronica? With … with black men?” Andy wondered. Veronica nodded without hesitation or remorse. It was the first time she smiled to her husband since he walked through the door. Veronica told her new cuckold, “Black men, Andy, are open-minded, passionate, and most of all … better than you. They're better, no … 'superior' to any white boy. I want … I want black men to fuck me. Anytime, any place, and any hole.” Andy took a seat back on the couch. His feelings and ego were bruised and hurt. Veronica did not care she just stood and snickered at him. The memories of having her cunt stretched open by big, black cock were telling her how to think and what to think of her husband.
“My raise, what about all the money we can have together?” Andy asked, his voice crackling. Veronica took a seat next to him and tried to consul him. “I'm not interested in a life of wealth and white privilege. I want .. Black Power. That's why I have to do everything it takes to make sure our abortion clinic is terminating unneeded white pregnancies. That means attending rallies, betraying my work, my race … and most of all - you.”
“This 'Elimination Clinic' is really that important to you? More than our marriage?” Andy asked trying to hold back the tears of his life falling apart. Veronica's reply was clear and business like, “The clinic must be open twenty-four hours seven days a week. Oppressed and bloated white woman march in. Woke and beautiful walk out ready to give their wombs to the black race.”
Veronica squeezed Andy's hand. In her mind, she was comforting him. Andy looked up into her eyes. He was looking and hoping for direction. “What do you want me to do?” Veronica gently ran her free hand across Andy's cheek. It was a facade of love and compassion. “I think you should turn down the promotion and go on traveling full time at the reduced pay. It's better for both of us. You'll be too busy to think about me. I get to live my life apart from you spreading my legs for different black men. Every day. Every night.”
There was a long, awkward pause in the room. Veronica rather enjoyed it. It was so much more civil than getting into an argument. Still, Veronica's patience was quickly running thin. Husband or not, she couldn't be caught alone with a white man.
“Well, I think it's time for you to leave.” Veronica said rather coldly. Andy nodded. With his head down he stood on his feet.
“Here! Don't forget this.” Veronica handed Andy the unwanted bouquet of flowers to him. Andy shuffled his feet to the door but too slow for Veronica who rushed in front of him. She opened the door and told him, “Make sure to let all your friends and co-workers know you're a cuckold and have a black cock slut for a wife!”
When Veronica closed the door behind him, off came the robe. It dropped to the floor mat and she went back to find her African Spice. She eased back on the couch, flicked her lighter, and lit the tip of her “joint”. Veronica spread her legs and took her first toke, inhaling the African magic. She immediately felt bliss. Veronica smiled and moaned. She was in another world, a black man's world. The illusion of a husband of vanished in a single puff of smoke. In exchange was the bliss of euphoria and instant gratification. Veronica let out a short, unexpected laugh and took another drag. She moaned and moved her free hand to her pussy and began giving it attention with a massage. Veronica began to think how evil and stupid white men were. It made her feel good. The more she succumbed to detest the white race the better it made her feel.
“Damn! I hate white men. I fucking hate my race.” she said.
Veronica realized she was talking like Piper, that black-cock whore. She took another puff and loved beautiful black power … it's culture, it's men. She accepted her place to lay down with them so they can work out their frustrations caused by white racism on her. She freely accepted their seed.
Veronica was fully masturbating in the living room. She rubbed her angry clit as fast as she was taking in more African Spice. More … more … more weed. More smoke. More love for the black man. “Ugh! Ahh! Fuck … fuck white people. Fuck us all up, gawd-damnit!” she screamed. She fantasized about being pinned down by a dominant, black thug and taking his cock deep into her cunt. Veronica heard a voice explaining she owed the black man reparations for her sins. “Take my pussy! Take everything! I'm a race-traitor whore!” she yelled before arching her back and letting out a muffled cry. Veronica experienced a rippling orgasm and finished the last of her Spice. Panting, sweat ran down both her cheeks. “I need to get fuckin' laid!” she said to herself.
IT WAS AN EXCITING PLACE!
The Black Paradise Hotel was a symbol of affluent, black influencers to be seen having fun and a great time. Once known as White Pine Paradise Hotel, it changed ownership after the election of the city's first black mayor and its name hours before his inauguration. The hotel's image changed overnight as well. No longer a tower of white racism and exclusion, it was drawing in black power and black money as far away as Inner City. It was magnet for black culture representing prosperity and showed everyone what would be enjoyed when the black race was in social, political, and economic power.
Its lobby was bustling with activity. Guests were waiting in line at the front desk. The concierge was busy giving advice to a traveling black businessman about the sites of Black Pine. Dignified black couples were enjoying drinks served to them by a college aged white girl in tight black stretch pants and a tight top obviously without a bra. She was tipped generously and invited to join black couples in their room. White “working girls” in revealing outfits were welcomed there. They weren't chased off when the prior, more racist, management ran things.
Cassie entered the lobby and was given several compliments in her outfit. She strutted into the place in her mini-skirt, tube top, and high heels. She felt giddy and confident. Cassie felt the energy, the excitement, the moment she stepped inside. It was vibrant, diverse, and never looked so beautiful. The reason was simple … no white men! The working girls, some escorted by their black manager, were speaking with potential clients. Everyone was smiling and joking. When a roll of bills was presented out in the open, a black gentleman and his arranged date would casually head to the elevators.
Anxious, Cassie was too early. She headed straight to the lounge. The bar at the hotel had thrown the prior decorations into the trash heap. In its place were portraits of prominent black supremacists, murals about black power, and African art. Paintings of beautiful and elegant black women hung side by side with others depicting naked white women in submissive and remorseful poses. Cassie felt very comfortable and welcome thanks to her experiences at the club. The men leering at her with hungry, lustful eyes were equally welcomed at the hotel. She walked up to the bar and the bartender, a black gentleman, offered her a drink on the house. Cassie was flattered. When the bartender said it was a special cocktail called “Doggy Style”, she giggled saying she “loved doggy style”.
Several men walked up and politely introduced themselves. Cassie described herself as a “stripper” working at the club in the Red Light District. She confirmed the “VIP room” and the fun that happens there. Cassie took a lot of phone numbers and said she could be available to meet outside the club, if necessary. She was whoring herself out! When downing her second free drink, aptly named, “Bull Semen”, for its creamy white color one of her male admirers asked “Do you have white boyfriend or a husband?”
Cassie paused and looked academic and serious. She then confessed, “Well, I'm currently separated from my husband and I think it's time for a divorce! He's just not performing like black guys do!” The men surrounding her cheered.
NIGHTTIME AT THE MIGRANT HOTEL
was always peaceful and relaxing. The residents would gather around a fire pit and sing African songs in lovely, harmonious tunes. It was a place of love. A few white women, supporters of migrant rights, were in the crowd. They were either sitting side by side with them sharing a puff of weed or kissing under the moonlight living the heaven thought elusive. Everything about life, nature, and the way of things were perfectly normal and unquestioned. There will be a shadows of a feminine figure dropping to her knees in front of her African. Her head would soon bob back and forth in a steady rhythm as a black hand covered her head before he thrust his hips. No one made a big deal of it. There was no shame. It was respected.
Walking up to fire pit came Veronica. She was dressed in a simple sundress, flat sandals, and no bra. Sitting on a short bench between African's was Piper covered in a simple, brown blanket. Piper's eyes looked like a raccoon from the mascara. Her hair frazzled after taking three showers at the hotel. Veronica noticed Piper and said to her, “You never left, did you?” Piper just shook her head before turning to the African on her left wanting a kiss.
Meanwhile, a migrant walked up to Veronica and they started a slow dance in front of the fire. The men sang. They sang a folk song about the greatness of Africa. Though it was in their dialect, it was loosely translated as:
We conquer our enemies with love.
We plant our seeds into their wombs.
They will enjoy pleasure.
We will have peace.
The African is a strong.
Their women will breed.
Africans forever!
Piper was in a middle of French-kissing before she pulled back and said out loud, “I'm horny!” She was put to her feet and her blanket fell to the concrete. She was naked with fresh dot-sized bruises on her hips and bites on her titties. Two Africans took her by the hand and led her to their room. Meanwhile, Veronica's dance partner grabbed both of her breasts and continued groping her. She could feel the bulge between his legs rubbing up against her. They kissed. He then looked into her eyes and said, “I fuck you now.” The migrant took Veronica by the hand and led her to the building. They would climb the stairs to the second floor and begin a night of passion.
CASSIE
had one last laugh with the crowd. She was safely in the embrace of a man when a young, black woman came looking for her. The woman was a representative of the BPM and dressed in expensive business-type attire and looked more like an attorney than Cassie did.
“Ahem … you Cassandra?” she asked.
Cassie looked over and nodded, "It's Cassie." The BPM representative raised an eyebrow and said out loud, “I almost mistaken you for a prostitute. Mr. Kalu will receive you now.” Cassie excused herself from her male suitors. She had a date every night for the next week. The lawyer dressed like a whore followed the dignified rep dressed like a lawyer.
Cassie walked into elevator lobby anxious for the doors in front of her to open. She was moments away from breaking barriers and stepping into a new world. She and the representative stepped into empty elevator car in unison. Both turned around and faced the door. The rep pressed the button for the penthouse. As the doors began to slide shut, she said to Cassie, “White girl, your race is fucked!” Cassie looked at herself in the elevator mirrored wall making sure she looked proper and sexually welcoming. Her reply was terse, “I know.” The elevator lifted towards the heavens and Cassie was about to meet her black god.
To learn more about the city of Black Pine and its characters, read the reference guide under the Author's Den found in the forums section.
THEY WERE TWO OF A KIND.
Nicky and Nancy had a lot in common. They were both blonde, and beautiful. and married to hardworking husbands. Most of all, they were cheating on them by betraying their race fucking black men like whores.
Taking up a room at the Black Owned Motel, the white girls lay next to each other on the bed, their legs spread wide apart. Holding each other's hand, the wives were on their backs as each had a black lover fucking them madly. It was reparations and much needed retribution for what their husbands had planned by closing the Elimination Clinic.
Nicky was 25 years old with a slender and athletic body. She had nice breasts that would fill a handful. Her dark blonde hair was often in a neat ponytail. Nicky had turned into a racial justice warrior and at first, it was all about fighting racism. Soon after, it was about her sexual obsessions with black men. African migrants, the inner city thugs, the old bulls and young, they had free use to her pussy. She was married to Sam, a middle manager at the PORG, who had an important role in redeveloping the Brickyards. When she learned her husband was complicit in his business's plan to close down the abortion clinic, Nicky took steps to betray him, his work, and her marriage.
Nancy was also 25 years old and cut from the same privileged white cloth as Nicky. She was blonde with hair to the bottom of her shoulders. Extremely attractive and beyond cute, she lived an affluent lifestyle. With a great, fit figure, she was long proud of her breasts and firm ass since her teen years. Nancy had discovered the pleasures of black cock while volunteering at the local high school bazaar. While she tried at times to resume a life of a faithful wife, her need for sex from dominant black men kept her coming back like a drug addict. Her husband, Brad, was also an up-and-coming employee of the PORG. Brad had worked tirelessly weekends and nights. In his stupidity and quest for money, Nancy had found the opportunity to explore her sexuality and feed her carnal appetite. She appreciated Brad's hard work, and his ******'s money, to fund their beyond-their-means lifestyle. However, none of it could sway her decision to become a black cock slut. Nancy had her priorities.
The men in the room cursed and grunted. They stood with their bare feet planted on the carpet and throwing their loins into their white girl Both of their hands gripped the ankles of the white girl laying before him. The men had one reason to share a room with them … to fuck, “get off”, and feel relief. They did not come to the motel to make friends but to use white girls as obligating cum dumpsters. The wives provided pussy to two of the most respected men in the black advocacy community. They were physically fit, and aggressive but most of all … they passionately hated their white race. This is why Nicky volunteered to please them. The black men deserved it! She wanted to pay her racial debts and convinced Nancy to join because this would “save the clinic”.
Nasir had his cock deep inside Nancy. They shared a union of interracial harmony on the black man's terms. Nasir was in his late twenties and a captain for The Black Power Movement. He was known for leading rallies, protesting white-owned businesses, and being a wonderful and prolific lover. While Nancy was indeed a beautiful knock-out, Nasir had one or two every day like her. His only interest was how she would empty his balls.
Malik Ajoonte was fucking Nicky with his massive cock nearly a foot long. Malik was described as 6 foot, 2 inches tall, strong and toned and in his late 20's. A “thug” by white people's standards, he was a hunter who had a taste for white women. He sported a little goatee and enjoyed wearing new, bright athletic shoes when he wasn't naked having sex. Malik was also a very dangerous man who would be in prison if not for legal advocates who repeatedly came to his defense. Malik needed to fuck. His hate for the white race and everything it stood for fueled his disdain for the evil, corrupt race. However, he would fuck their women and especially the married ones. Malik threw his hips into Nicky hearing her struggle with moans feeling his fleshy meat make its way into her womb.
“Let's see those wedding rings, ladies!” yelled Malik who wanted to see proof of black supremacy over white people. The wives moaned and turned their heads from side to side but managed to raise their left hands, showing their rings to their black-bull lovers. Nasir laughed and joined in celebrating black pride. Nasir smiled, shook his head, and scoffed at the white girls as “Race traitor whores”. Nasir leaned into Nancy's and wanted her to confess “Tell me you're a slut.” he said. Nancy squealed helplessly and the truth blurted out, “I'm a slut!” Nasir replied with a forceful push of his loins and a deep grunt making Nancy groan again.
Meanwhile, Malik slammed forward again and again in his violent rhythm. Nicky felt nothing but dick inside her. She felt more black than white than anytime in her life. Nicky yelled out, “Fuck me! I want that abortion clinic saved! I'll do anything!” she pleaded. Her wokeness made Malik smile, “Yeah … and you'll fuck day and night, right?”
Nicky nodded like a crack addict agreeing to anything to get her fix. “I want abortions day and night! End white racism!” she cried before falling into another delirious state in orgasm.
The men pulled out in unison and tapped their heavy cocks against spread, wet pussy. The wanted to exchange places and fuck the other girl. Nicky and Nancy rolled on their sides before propping up on their knees and elbows. Both were gasping for air taking advantage of the short break for relief. When Nancy put her palms flat on the mattress, she turned to Nicky and asked, “This keeps the clinic open?” she wondered. Nicky nodded once and looked back at Nancy. Nicky put her hand on top of Nancy's head and replied. “It does. Now, shut up and keep your head down!”
TEAGAN T. KAYCE
should have been working on her story if not spending time with her husband. Instead, she was naked on her knees in Keyshawn's bedroom. Keyshawn had his seat on his bed, his knees spread wide apart. Teagan knelt between his thighs wearing a big smile on her face. Her hands caressed his blessed manhood. She looked up and grinned and winked at her black lover. Keyshawn's sphincter underneath was still slick and sticky from the ass-licking Teagan's tongue had given it.
Teagan was an up and coming television news reporter for Inner City 6. The controversy and racism surrounding the Brickyards story made her recognized personality especially in the activist community. Teagan was 28 year old with with long, slightly wavy blonde hair. She used her attractiveness to get in front of a camera of a struggling news station and waited for her moment to step into the spotlight. Although she was married and was raised in a rural state, she abandoned her quiet, conservative values for something more progressive, more right. All in return for a story and little short-term fame. White racism and abortion access was all it took to give her the notoriety she sought after. Teagan was taken in by The Black Power Movement and switched convictions. White eliminations of pregnancy out of racial justice was something she believed in. Teagan could no longer act silent or behave white society expected her to behave. So, she sided with African and black cultures willing surrendered as their sex whore.
Keyshawn was an athletic black man in his mid 20's. He was an entrepreneur, a retired football player, and very magnetic. Living in his luxurious condominium of Cherry Vista, he hosted many different white girls for nothing more than sexual pleasures. While he did have a penchant for “pro 'hoes”, he wouldn't resist a married white girl if it promoted black power. Keyshawn wasn't the activist but he wouldn't neglect his racial duty as a black man to better his people. Especially, if he gets to release his fertile frustrations into a white woman. The local news had long known of rumors of the many children he had fathered with white women. None of them had come forward.
Teagan giggled again while giving Keyshawn's black cock little, loving kisses up and down its shaft. “Gawd, I love black people!” she said to him. Keyshawn approved and nodded at the cheating television personality. “I want sex with a black woman. I want to be her bitch!” Teagan confessed. It came out of nowhere … this newfound desire and sexual need. Teagan felt relieved to spill out her deepest racial wants to a black man. Keyshawn whispered back, “I know several sisters who could use a white girl. They're rough tho' and the whole world will know you eat black pussy!” he warned her. Teagan it off and answered, “I don't care.”
Teagan lowered her head and gave Keyshawn his blowjob. The blonde needed the feeling of black meat in her mouth. She felt incomplete without it. Her submissive position on the floor with his cock in her mouth was everything Keyshawn was entitled to. “Suck that black cock, white girl! You cheating, fucking slut!” he bellowed. Teagan plopped his dick out from over her tongue long enough to reply, “Yes, sir.” Keyshawn put his left hand on top of Teagan's head and bucked his hips, fucking her face. His lust was fueled with excitement and frustration. “... fuck … fuck … fuck ...” he repeated. All Teagan wanted was to be a sex puppet for the handsome black man. She rolled her eyes and went empty headed. She started to choke and thick gobs of spit ran down Keyshawn's shaft. Teagan let out a few coughs. “You okay?” Keyshawn asked like a gentleman. Teagan nodded, “I just love your cock so much!” she answered, “I can't get enough.”
Teagan climbed on top Keyshawn not wanting to wait to get fucked. Her mobile phone started ringing. It could have been from her work or husband. Both lovers ignored it. There was something more important to do. Teagan straddled him while grabbing his needy cock with her right hand aiming for her hot, moist spot between her legs.
Keyshawn grabbed Teagan's breasts with each hand. They felt more sensitive to her than usual. Teagan felt the penetration and let out a sigh of much needed relief. The nuisance ringing stopped. The couple was free to fight racism in peace. The digital noise echoing the room was replaced with human moans of eroticism and racial bliss.
CASSANDRA
had much to celebrate. She had earned an audience with the most heralded leader of The Black Power Movement, Akin Kalu. The attorney representing the PORG and its racist plans felt confident she found a way to settle with the activist organization that would both save the company's reputation as well as guarantee the abortion clinic catering to white women continue operation day and night. She was a married, 32 year old blonde with dark streaks. She carried envious measurements 34D-21-34 and 5'6" suitable for a porn star. Cassandra worked hard for years through university, law school, and finally her practice to make success from her hard work and intelligence. However, Cassandra traded it all overnight when she met JaMarcus, a manager of a strip club.
“Cassie” turned into a stripper. The type who dances on stage in front of black men throwing money at her before escorting them to the private room where she indulged in prostitution. It started academic enough. Cassandra needed to understand how to behave when black supremacy was a growing and an accepted movement. She wanted to learn what black men wanted. When she learned it was “pussy” she gladly started taking up new habits.
With a new career inside the Black Fantasies Lounge located in the Red Light District, she was welcomed by her fellow dancers. In the back room, Cassie leaned back in a chair naked with her legs spread. It was a ritual initiating her as a “stripper-whore”. One by one, the other dancers licked her pussy and called her “black cock slut”, “whore”, and “dumb, white girl”. Cassie loved every word that described what she always needed to be. Meanwhile, Cassie was sucking on Anna's large breast trying to milk it. It was a loving, kind moment as Anna combed Cassie's blonde hair with her fingers. “That's it, honey. Take your time.” Anna told her.
Anna was nearly 40 with brown hair to her shoulders. She was very fit for her age having taken care of herself. In her recent years, her breasts enlarged like honeydew melons. With firm, tight hips, she easily attracted the eyes of black men. Led down the path paved with lust and cocaine, she followed her 18 year old ********, June, who too was stripper at the Black Fantasies Lounge and unashamed coke-addict.
Last to take her turn between Cassie's thighs was The Goth Girl. A thin-framed 24 year old, she had the blackest hair, a nose ring attached to her right nostril, and wore black platform shoes. The lounge's assistant manager, she would sometimes take the stage if the club was especially crowded or the ladies were too busy servicing the patrons in back. Appearing bored, Goth Girl seemed irritated to be part of the ceremony. She thought Cassandra was stuck up and acted too-good for the place. However, she knelt and went through with it. Goth Girl spat on Cassie's bare-shaven pussy slick with the spit from others and began licking and twirling the clit with her tongue. Hearing Cassie coo and moan made her more passionate lapping cunt. The Goth Girl's disdain she once had for the intruding, conceited blonde was changing into something more. Goth Girl pulled on Cassie's clit with her lips before rubbing it with her right palm. She so much wanted to insult and belittle the white girl, “Slut! Fucking black guys left and right like a race-traitor whore … you're just good for a fuck ... black fucking cock slut!” Her white-pride-trashing words put Cassie into a furious orgasm. Goth Girl looked to hate on Cassie more by sticking two fingers into her tight pussy and twisting them making everyone to see how sexually insatiable she was. “Gawd-damn! You love what I'm doing to you!”
The other dancers in the dressing room witnessed and covered their mouths in erotic surprise. Even Anne stepped back and put an arm around her ********. Cassie bucked and sat up and open-mouthed kissed Goth Girl. They groped each other and their tongues danced. Goth Girl's top came off and Cassie pulled down her shorts. As if they were following a script, they casually exchanged places. This time, Cassie was between Goth Girl's thighs and started eating pussy. Cassie let out deep hungry groans feeling sexual and spiritual pleasures.
“Oh … fuck … oh … shit … oh fuck ...” Goth Girl rambled and her thighs shook.
Porsche walked over and wiped the sweat off of Goth Girl's forehead. “What's happening to you?” Porsche asked. Porsche was a 20-something blonde making a living at the club and one of more experienced dancers there. Goth Girl looked up at Porsche but might as well had stared into the ceiling lights and said, “I'm fuc-ck-ing cumming!” Her voice was broken and her eye rolled before she pulled Cassie up until they were nose-to-nose.
“I love you.” whispered Cassie who looked deep into Goth Girl's eyes “I … love … you.” she said again.
“What, you're a lesbian now?” Goth Girl asked.
Cassie nodded and smiled. The girls kissed again, their tongues danced, the room cheered.
“You're so fucking beautiful!” Goth Girl said to Cassie.
After the girls finished their embrace, Cassie got a text message that interrupted the couple's moment. It wasn't the salacious one that was bouncing around Black Pine. This message came from offices of The Black Power Movement confirming the time and place for Cassie's meeting. It was scheduled late in the evening set in one of the penthouses inside the Black Paradise hotel. Until then, Cassie had some whoring to do!
KATHLEEN
finished her long drive from Inner City. It was a satisfying meeting with her black “VIPs” and she agreed to return in a week for a gang bang. Her breasts were sore from all the groping and she guessed her ass was red from all the smacks from black palms. Kathleen's pussy felt stretched and filled with cum inside. When she returned home in the heart of the Wealthy Corridor in Black Pine, she hurried to her opulent bathroom, stripped naked and stood in front of her mirror. Kathleen saw “Kat” staring back at her. Kat was a whore, fucked in the head like she was fucked in body. Kathleen caressed her sticky, used body from her breasts to her bare pussy. She found the courage to look at herself again. “You're a total slut.” she sneered to herself. The business, the company founded by her husband was the last thing on her mind. Flashing images of men … black men went through her emptied head. Cock going into her mouth, pussy, and ass … tit groping … ass slapping … the dirty names … the smacking of hard cock against her face … both recent memories and wishes for the her future.
Then Kathleen heard her husband, Olde, struggle from his room. She wrapped her body in an expensive silk robe still smelling of sex and covered with blotches of sweat and man-cum. Kathleen rushed in. His life-extending machines played a chorus of beeps and wails. She held his hand and his coughing and lurching subsided. For that moment, Kathleen felt sorrow. She couldn't imagine not becoming the black-cock whore she turned into. However, she never wanted to hurt Olde or the PORG legacy. Kathleen prayed that the company could go on in the current social environment, keep her husband alive a little longer, while giving her the opportunity disappear for a few tricks.
Kathleen's phone pinged. Olde popped his eyes opened and pointed to the ceiling. Kathleen let go of Olde's hand, stepped back, and read her text message. It was Tremaine. He wanted her to get cleaned up and head over to his place. His text finished with “i'm gonna fuck u”. Kathleen nodded calmly and understood. She couldn't resist groping a breast through her robe in front of her husband. Kathleen rubbed her knees together and began feeling giddy. Her black man was going to give her attention. Maybe, she'll have some soft of a relationship with her pimp after all.
THE BLACK FANTASIES LOUNGE
was busy in the early evening. The music was rhythmic playing the latest trending rap. The girls were dancing on stage, paying patrons a visit at their tables before pulling them into the back VIP room. One by one, Black Pine's finest, most affluent and powerful men stepped inside. The African “warlord” looking man with mirrored glasses returned with his entourage dressed in business suits. He couldn't be missed with his bright tunic. The Warlord took his seat against the wall in the far corner and caught Cassie's eye as she performed on stage side by side with G.G., the Goth Girl. G.G didn't want to separate from her new girlfriend and volunteered to be “one of the girls” and perform on stage and in the back room. G.G thought this would make their new relationship stronger. To make it work, they needed to satisfy their strong heterosexual desires.
Cassie didn't realize a call was made ahead to reserve her entire shift. After each stage appearance of one song, she was called to take one from the entourage of four to the VIP room. She would participate doing her part in another black victory over the white race. The men were especially polite and soft spoken up to the moment they were naked with a stiff cock hungry for pussy. Not a single one used a condom. She would never offend them by asking. Cassie figured they were here for access to her womb and they were entitled to it. Each member of the Warlord's party was sexually aggressive and experienced. Cassie was rightfully dominated and treated like a sex object.
Black dick pushed inside her with great passion. Her pussy was busy stretched with throbbing black cock pulsating with veins racing with hot blood. They lunged inside trying to make it a part of her. Cassie moaned and struggled but willingly surrendered her body each time. She could feel their black pride and often disdain for her weaker, white race. “Yes!” Cassie would blare out knowing and understanding how truly fucked the white race was. Cassie looked up into the black mesh hiding the observation room above. She imagined one of the moving silhouettes was starting at her from behind mirrored glasses. Cassie turned to her head and saw her girlfriend, G.G, pleasing a client with her ankles over his shoulders. If this was black utopia she would do anything for a place in it. Suddenly, white surrender and subjugation as a sub-citizen seemed appealing and morally right.
Cassie's men finishing by covering her with their cum. They dumped on her face, tits, in her mouth, and unprotected pussy. Whatever the man wanted. When a session was over and her private “customer” satisfied, he resumed his politeness and called her “Miss Cassie.” The men were also very generous giving her a cash bonus privately in the shadows.
When Cassie stepped out each time from the VIP room she would exchange glances with the Warlord. It was hard to tell if he was looking back from behind his sunglasses. She was strangely curious wondering if he would take his turn with her. Or maybe, he would pick another white girl to spend money on. On her way to the dressing room, Cassie was tempted to walk up and speak to him. However, JaMarcus would always rush her to “clean up and get back to makin' money.”
As the evening wore, G.G had enough in the VIP room. She couldn't keep up with Cassie's pace and popularity. As the evening went into the night, Cassie was on all fours with the last of the Warlord's escorts. It must have been the last of them. Her legs, knees, and jaw were sore but it felt so good and so right to be fucked. The once wholesome wife and hardworking attorney was in a red-hued world of money, seductive rap music, and sex. Cassie begged her customer, “Fuck that pussy, baby! I belong to the black race!”
Her generous gentleman simply replied, “Bless the black man.”
Cassie's session was ending with her face down into the couch muffling her struggling moans. She pinned her arms straight back where she held both hands with her lover. Fucking her from behind, Cassie resembled a life-sized sex doll with holes in all the right places. She let out short grunts in rhythm with her ass suspended in air and a big, black cock inside her. He let go of her hands and bucked ahead with powerful might. Slam-slam-fuck! When he felt his much needed release racing through his manhood, he calmly pulled out, spun Cassie around and came on her face leaving behind puddles of white goo on her nose, cheek, and tongue.
Cassie's customer said to her, “You are the slut they said you were.” Wiping her face and licking her fingers, Cassie looked up with wide, round eyes and nodded. She then looked at the tip of his plump cock-head and was in awe what it did to her. Cassie leaned forward and gave it a soft, tender kiss.
When Cassie stepped out of the VIP room, the Warlord and the rest of his entourage had gone. She only caught a glimpse of her most recent patron, fully dressed, disappear towards the exit. There was a loud roar from the crowd and Cassie looked to the stage. Anna and June were there groping each other's breast and giving each other a kiss. The place loved it and showered them with balls of one-dollar bills. Cassie stepped inside the dressing room where G.G was finishing putting on her knee-high boots. The girls embraced and kissed each other with open mouths. “You need to get cleaned up!” said G.G Cassie grinned and realized, “Oh, my gawd! I gotta go get ready for my meeting with the BPM!”
“Good luck!” said G.G who followed with “Call me after … we have to fuck … hot, girl on girl style!” Cassie knew G.G was right. They had to seal their new found love and relationship with uninhibited lesbian sex. Life was moving fast for Cassie. She was becoming a hot and successful property at the club … getting all the black dick a white girl needed to keep her sanity. She was closing in on the well publicized case with The Black Power Movement. Cassie would become the most prominent lawyer in the city. Now, she was starting up new romance with a woman where she never considered same-sex relationship before. If this was life under black power she was an all-in-believer and willing to do more.
VERONICA
had long made it back to her simple one-bedroom apartment. She had spent the afternoon in a room at the Migrant Hotel with Piper. After Timmy was humiliated on the parking lot, a pair of Africans escorted Veronica and Piper to their room to celebrate. Veronica had still the taste of cum in her mouth from a recent blow job she gave out in the open in front of cheering refugees. As soon as she and Piper stepped inside the room their clothes dropped to the floor. Little was needed to be said and the white girls were fucked, before trading places, and fucked again. They were used to sooth African needs and desires for physical and racial satisfaction.
Veronica left the hotel hours ago but Piper chose to stay behind. Her young intern wanted to visit the room next door and score more dick. Veronica guessed Piper's cunt was ruined after the royal fucking she received from Sipho and another from an anonymous migrant on the lot. However, Piper's libido went into over drive. Her hatred of her ex, Timmy, reached new heights and she desperately tried to work it out by fucking one black man after another.
Veronica laid in her tub taking a long, warm soak. With a glass of red in her hand, she kept thinking how Piper screamed out “I hate white boys! I hate all white men!”. Veronica smirked, taking pride how she turned the once meek intern into a race betraying whore and slut. Veronica massaged her well-stretched pussy and sighed. She felt good about herself because her pussy was so satisfied. Black men, Africans or not, had superior physical and emotional skills that made them bulls … black gods! Veronica continued dreaming about black culture and the hold it had over her and many in her life. There was no escape for someone like pathetic Timmy too, who was living a life under the black power fist. Veronica reached for her phone and pulled up music, explicit rap music with heavy bass. As soon as she heard the beats, she felt dreamy and relaxed. She felt comfortable with the lyrics and never gave them a second thought.
A male lead with a deep voice made demands of his listener and promised street justice and fucking white racism. “Reparations now! Reparations now!” While Veronica bobbed her head to the music, one could have looked at her convinced she was nodding, agreeing to the message. Black Dick 3, a local favorite followed next.
Rip off them clothes white girl!
On your knees and bend over (I need it) …
On your knees and bend over (you'll love it) …
Ugh, ugh, ugh take that cock
- Black Dick 3
Veronica put down her glass, nearly empty, when she started feeling aroused. With one hand, she began massaging a breast. The other hand reached for her pussy. The moment quickly turned into one of self pleasure when she thought about black power. Veronica let out an erotic gasp at the thought of being a common whore in a black utopia where black supremacy reigns. She tapped her clit and felt electricity shooting up her spine. The idea of giving up all rights to the black race excited her!
“Gawd, I fuckin' hate white racism!” she cursed.
“Gawd-damn, yes! I want reparations for the black people!” she promised.
“I love black power! I love The Movement!” she cheered.
You're here to serve our race.
Dirty white girl. Dirty white girl.
Get on your knees and suck black cock!
Suck that cock. Suck my cock!
We're here to fuck you.
Here to fuck you, white girl.
Dirty white girl
- Black Dick 3
Veronica made one last good squeeze of her right breast before she stood up in her tub. She was a proud race-traitor and let out a deep breath. “We have to save the Elimination Clinic!” Veronica was turning into a well-adjusted racial justice warrior. Out of all the things she could be dreaming of while alone naked at home, she was hoping for more abortions for the women of her race. Veronica promised herself she'd dedicate more of herself to the black race. More of her time, more of her body, more sex. “We must … we need … we deserve abortions.”
Veronica walked to the bedroom and rummaged through her purse and pulled out what looked like a joint hand-rolled with crinkled sun-bleached paper. It was about 4 inches long and not usually the sort of thing an office manager would be walking around with. This was different times. It was a gift from the African migrants. It was not just “weed” but called “African Spice”. What it was made from was an urban legend. Some said it was hashish with “special ingredients” from African lands and blessed by witch doctors. Other conspiracy theorists claim its origins from a pharmaceutical lab financed by African oil barons. Either way, African Spice was tailored to soothe and comfort the African. Much how alcohol or dairy are processed differently, the “Spice” had different chemical reactions between the races and genders. It was rumored to be especially effective on white women. Storytellers spoke tales how African Spice helped defeat and conquer white colonists out of the dark continent.
The stories may have been anecdotal or psychosomatic. They may even had added to its legend. No one doubted the Spice re-wired the brain. It was especially effective on white women who became more sexually demanding needing men who were aggressive and dominating. Life-long upbringing on white ideals were abandoned with a puff of smoke. They were ready to drop their panties and spread their legs for black men. Most of all, they had curiously sudden love for the black race and their men while hating their own. They would dress and behave more black-friendly and changed their social and political beliefs overnight with help of black lovers. In short time, even the most uptight, frigid, conservative white woman would turn into a race-traitor, whore and slut serving the black race and his black utopia.
Veronica took out a lighter, normally used for candles, and sat back in her chair in the living room. She laid back, took a deep breath, and spread her legs. Veronica was looking forward to the experience and becoming a new woman. As luck would have it, at the moment she was about to ignite a flame from her lighter, a weak knock rapped on her door. Veronica paused, held her breath and wondered if was her neighbor's door but after a few moments of peace, the raps returned.
“... nok … nok … nok ...”
Veronica tucked her Spice and lighter away and answered “... be right there !” while running to throw on a bathrobe. She was anxious, nervous, and a little pissed off someone would come knocking when she was needing the rest after a long day of sexual exercise and race healing. Veronica ran to the door, opened it just an inch to peer at who was at her door.
It was her husband, Andy.
MEANWHILE,
Kenneth was noticing how Cassandra was becoming distant and aloof since she started researching “black culture”. He was too scared to even think about the idea that his younger wife could be doing away from home. Kenneth found himself standing in the middle of the bedroom looking through the bathroom's open doorway watching Cassandra prim herself in front of the mirror. Kenneth was both ogling and staring at her with grief. His wife was obviously narcissistic and giving her reflection all of her love and attention at the moment. Kenneth had to watch Cassandra, now Cassie, glide her hands over her outfit made of a mini-skirt and tube top. Her wardrobe especially picked out by her boutique for her meeting with Akin Kalu.
Kenneth complained about Cassandra's behavior, her outfits, and how the case with The Black Power Movement was affecting her and their marriage. When Kenneth griped about not having sex, Cassie blurted out a laugh. She shook her head and giggled. Cassie didn't think enough of Kenneth to bother telling him his wife became a whore for black men and a very proud race traitor. In fact, it made her feel good and dirty leaving her cuckold in the dark about his wife.
“I've learned so much at the club about myself and my race. “ Cassie raved, “The girls work so hard there to please our black gods … the black men … whoo! They're so fuckin' sexy and aggressive!”
Kenneth heart sunk. He didn't believe how he was hearing his dear wife praise black men as gods. “What have gotten into you, Cassandra?” he asked meekly. Cassie resisted the double entendre but giggled at herself of what “gotten into her”. “What do you do there?” Kenneth asked. He had mustered all his strength to know what Cassandra was doing late nights in the Red Light District.
“I was taught how to behave in front of black men. Now, I'm ready to meet the Chairman of The Black Power Movement. Me, a worthless white girl.” Cassie explained. She snickered and lifted her mini-skirt over her thigh. “Do you want to know how? Do you? Huh?” Cassandra teased Kenneth by raising her skirt more just enough to hint she was wearing a pink g-string. Kenneth looked and away and put his hand up protesting the strip tease. “No, I don't want to hear!”
“It's no big deal, honey!” Cassie proudly removed her clothes and let them drop to the bathroom floor. Standing in front of her husband she said very clinically, “See? This is what they need, white boy!” Kenneth looked and saw his wife unashamed but couldn't help notice her shaved pussy. Too ashamed of himself to say anything, Kenneth turned his head and looked at the floor.
“Go visit your sister at Inner City for a couple days?” Cassie suggested, “I don't need distractions while I'm about to settle with The Black Power Movement. “ she added but couldn't hesitate finishing with “... and while I'm busy repairing the racial damage my client and our race is responsible for ... we're definitely not having sex!”
Cassie closed the bathroom door between her and Kenneth. Kenneth was left standing alone hearing rap music playing from Cassandra's phone.
Ha-Ha, White Boy!
We got your girl now
We got your girl now
She's ours now
We're fucking her now
- Black Dick 3
ANDY
sat on Veronica's couch. His bouquet of flowers picked up from a local convenience store lying on the coffee table in need of water. Andy was full of smiles holding his wife's hand. It had been too long since he saw his wife. Too long since he put his penis inside her. Meanwhile, Veronica had a stunned look on her face. Her free, left hand fidgeting the top of her robe to hide her cleavage.
“I'm so happy I can see you again!” Andy praised. He went on boring Veronica about how much he missed her before man-splaining what he wanted to hear from her. “Are you ready to move out and come with me? I can't wait until I tell management I've accepted their offer!”
Veronica jumped to her feet and pulled on her wrists. Her mouth went dry and she could feel her lips chafe. “Leave Black Pine? You were serious?” she asked. Andy stood up and helped himself to Veronica's side. The new money and a career boost clicked his sex drive and white confidence. “Yes, Veronica!” he said loudly and turned his wife by her hips so she could face him. “Every night we can be together in the same bed!” he promised.
Veronica's mouth opened and she showed pained horror at the idea of sharing the bed with him every night. She could have cried right there. What would the black community think of her? When she placed both her palms on Andy's meek chest, she exposed some of her cleavage. Veronica barely said, “Andy, we have to talk ...” before her husband attacked her with his grubby hands and greedy eyes!
“Oh, honey! I need you so much!” he complained as he moved in to kiss her. Veronica turned away but Andy put his lips to her smooch her neck.
“No, no, no … we can't do this!” Veronica protested, “I don't want to do this!” she continued. Andy reached in with his left hand and squeezed one of her breasts. Veronica felt awkward, uncomfortable, and wrong. When Andy's right hand helped itself to her ass, grabbing it, Veronica was sickened and had enough and started pleading excuses, “I have a headache!” and “It isn't right if we do this!” However, when Andy didn't stop his advance, she blurted out “I don't want to have sex with you! I want sex with other men!”.
One could hear a pin drop! Andy's “sex” drive instantly petered out. He frowned and stepped back and asked, “What … did you say?”
Veronica cleared her throat and quickly covered herself with her robe. “I said, I fuck other men.”
“What men? Why?” Andy asked.
Veronica replied, “Well, Andy … black men.” She clearly emphasized “men” as in many. “We're separated and I need sex. You understand?”
Andy complained, “We were never 'separated'. We just were apart while I got my career on track.” Veronica shook her head and corrected Andy's take on their marital history, “No, we were clearly apart living separate lives. I need my own life and its one with frequent sex!”
Andy put his left hand on his heart feeling it had fluttered unnaturally. For the moment he didn't know where he was or the woman he was speaking with. He let out an exhausted and defeated gasp. “Frequent, Veronica? With … with black men?” Andy wondered. Veronica nodded without hesitation or remorse. It was the first time she smiled to her husband since he walked through the door. Veronica told her new cuckold, “Black men, Andy, are open-minded, passionate, and most of all … better than you. They're better, no … 'superior' to any white boy. I want … I want black men to fuck me. Anytime, any place, and any hole.” Andy took a seat back on the couch. His feelings and ego were bruised and hurt. Veronica did not care she just stood and snickered at him. The memories of having her cunt stretched open by big, black cock were telling her how to think and what to think of her husband.
“My raise, what about all the money we can have together?” Andy asked, his voice crackling. Veronica took a seat next to him and tried to consul him. “I'm not interested in a life of wealth and white privilege. I want .. Black Power. That's why I have to do everything it takes to make sure our abortion clinic is terminating unneeded white pregnancies. That means attending rallies, betraying my work, my race … and most of all - you.”
“This 'Elimination Clinic' is really that important to you? More than our marriage?” Andy asked trying to hold back the tears of his life falling apart. Veronica's reply was clear and business like, “The clinic must be open twenty-four hours seven days a week. Oppressed and bloated white woman march in. Woke and beautiful walk out ready to give their wombs to the black race.”
Veronica squeezed Andy's hand. In her mind, she was comforting him. Andy looked up into her eyes. He was looking and hoping for direction. “What do you want me to do?” Veronica gently ran her free hand across Andy's cheek. It was a facade of love and compassion. “I think you should turn down the promotion and go on traveling full time at the reduced pay. It's better for both of us. You'll be too busy to think about me. I get to live my life apart from you spreading my legs for different black men. Every day. Every night.”
There was a long, awkward pause in the room. Veronica rather enjoyed it. It was so much more civil than getting into an argument. Still, Veronica's patience was quickly running thin. Husband or not, she couldn't be caught alone with a white man.
“Well, I think it's time for you to leave.” Veronica said rather coldly. Andy nodded. With his head down he stood on his feet.
“Here! Don't forget this.” Veronica handed Andy the unwanted bouquet of flowers to him. Andy shuffled his feet to the door but too slow for Veronica who rushed in front of him. She opened the door and told him, “Make sure to let all your friends and co-workers know you're a cuckold and have a black cock slut for a wife!”
When Veronica closed the door behind him, off came the robe. It dropped to the floor mat and she went back to find her African Spice. She eased back on the couch, flicked her lighter, and lit the tip of her “joint”. Veronica spread her legs and took her first toke, inhaling the African magic. She immediately felt bliss. Veronica smiled and moaned. She was in another world, a black man's world. The illusion of a husband of vanished in a single puff of smoke. In exchange was the bliss of euphoria and instant gratification. Veronica let out a short, unexpected laugh and took another drag. She moaned and moved her free hand to her pussy and began giving it attention with a massage. Veronica began to think how evil and stupid white men were. It made her feel good. The more she succumbed to detest the white race the better it made her feel.
“Damn! I hate white men. I fucking hate my race.” she said.
Veronica realized she was talking like Piper, that black-cock whore. She took another puff and loved beautiful black power … it's culture, it's men. She accepted her place to lay down with them so they can work out their frustrations caused by white racism on her. She freely accepted their seed.
Veronica was fully masturbating in the living room. She rubbed her angry clit as fast as she was taking in more African Spice. More … more … more weed. More smoke. More love for the black man. “Ugh! Ahh! Fuck … fuck white people. Fuck us all up, gawd-damnit!” she screamed. She fantasized about being pinned down by a dominant, black thug and taking his cock deep into her cunt. Veronica heard a voice explaining she owed the black man reparations for her sins. “Take my pussy! Take everything! I'm a race-traitor whore!” she yelled before arching her back and letting out a muffled cry. Veronica experienced a rippling orgasm and finished the last of her Spice. Panting, sweat ran down both her cheeks. “I need to get fuckin' laid!” she said to herself.
IT WAS AN EXCITING PLACE!
The Black Paradise Hotel was a symbol of affluent, black influencers to be seen having fun and a great time. Once known as White Pine Paradise Hotel, it changed ownership after the election of the city's first black mayor and its name hours before his inauguration. The hotel's image changed overnight as well. No longer a tower of white racism and exclusion, it was drawing in black power and black money as far away as Inner City. It was magnet for black culture representing prosperity and showed everyone what would be enjoyed when the black race was in social, political, and economic power.
Its lobby was bustling with activity. Guests were waiting in line at the front desk. The concierge was busy giving advice to a traveling black businessman about the sites of Black Pine. Dignified black couples were enjoying drinks served to them by a college aged white girl in tight black stretch pants and a tight top obviously without a bra. She was tipped generously and invited to join black couples in their room. White “working girls” in revealing outfits were welcomed there. They weren't chased off when the prior, more racist, management ran things.
Cassie entered the lobby and was given several compliments in her outfit. She strutted into the place in her mini-skirt, tube top, and high heels. She felt giddy and confident. Cassie felt the energy, the excitement, the moment she stepped inside. It was vibrant, diverse, and never looked so beautiful. The reason was simple … no white men! The working girls, some escorted by their black manager, were speaking with potential clients. Everyone was smiling and joking. When a roll of bills was presented out in the open, a black gentleman and his arranged date would casually head to the elevators.
Anxious, Cassie was too early. She headed straight to the lounge. The bar at the hotel had thrown the prior decorations into the trash heap. In its place were portraits of prominent black supremacists, murals about black power, and African art. Paintings of beautiful and elegant black women hung side by side with others depicting naked white women in submissive and remorseful poses. Cassie felt very comfortable and welcome thanks to her experiences at the club. The men leering at her with hungry, lustful eyes were equally welcomed at the hotel. She walked up to the bar and the bartender, a black gentleman, offered her a drink on the house. Cassie was flattered. When the bartender said it was a special cocktail called “Doggy Style”, she giggled saying she “loved doggy style”.
Several men walked up and politely introduced themselves. Cassie described herself as a “stripper” working at the club in the Red Light District. She confirmed the “VIP room” and the fun that happens there. Cassie took a lot of phone numbers and said she could be available to meet outside the club, if necessary. She was whoring herself out! When downing her second free drink, aptly named, “Bull Semen”, for its creamy white color one of her male admirers asked “Do you have white boyfriend or a husband?”
Cassie paused and looked academic and serious. She then confessed, “Well, I'm currently separated from my husband and I think it's time for a divorce! He's just not performing like black guys do!” The men surrounding her cheered.
NIGHTTIME AT THE MIGRANT HOTEL
was always peaceful and relaxing. The residents would gather around a fire pit and sing African songs in lovely, harmonious tunes. It was a place of love. A few white women, supporters of migrant rights, were in the crowd. They were either sitting side by side with them sharing a puff of weed or kissing under the moonlight living the heaven thought elusive. Everything about life, nature, and the way of things were perfectly normal and unquestioned. There will be a shadows of a feminine figure dropping to her knees in front of her African. Her head would soon bob back and forth in a steady rhythm as a black hand covered her head before he thrust his hips. No one made a big deal of it. There was no shame. It was respected.
Walking up to fire pit came Veronica. She was dressed in a simple sundress, flat sandals, and no bra. Sitting on a short bench between African's was Piper covered in a simple, brown blanket. Piper's eyes looked like a raccoon from the mascara. Her hair frazzled after taking three showers at the hotel. Veronica noticed Piper and said to her, “You never left, did you?” Piper just shook her head before turning to the African on her left wanting a kiss.
Meanwhile, a migrant walked up to Veronica and they started a slow dance in front of the fire. The men sang. They sang a folk song about the greatness of Africa. Though it was in their dialect, it was loosely translated as:
We conquer our enemies with love.
We plant our seeds into their wombs.
They will enjoy pleasure.
We will have peace.
The African is a strong.
Their women will breed.
Africans forever!
Piper was in a middle of French-kissing before she pulled back and said out loud, “I'm horny!” She was put to her feet and her blanket fell to the concrete. She was naked with fresh dot-sized bruises on her hips and bites on her titties. Two Africans took her by the hand and led her to their room. Meanwhile, Veronica's dance partner grabbed both of her breasts and continued groping her. She could feel the bulge between his legs rubbing up against her. They kissed. He then looked into her eyes and said, “I fuck you now.” The migrant took Veronica by the hand and led her to the building. They would climb the stairs to the second floor and begin a night of passion.
CASSIE
had one last laugh with the crowd. She was safely in the embrace of a man when a young, black woman came looking for her. The woman was a representative of the BPM and dressed in expensive business-type attire and looked more like an attorney than Cassie did.
“Ahem … you Cassandra?” she asked.
Cassie looked over and nodded, "It's Cassie." The BPM representative raised an eyebrow and said out loud, “I almost mistaken you for a prostitute. Mr. Kalu will receive you now.” Cassie excused herself from her male suitors. She had a date every night for the next week. The lawyer dressed like a whore followed the dignified rep dressed like a lawyer.
Cassie walked into elevator lobby anxious for the doors in front of her to open. She was moments away from breaking barriers and stepping into a new world. She and the representative stepped into empty elevator car in unison. Both turned around and faced the door. The rep pressed the button for the penthouse. As the doors began to slide shut, she said to Cassie, “White girl, your race is fucked!” Cassie looked at herself in the elevator mirrored wall making sure she looked proper and sexually welcoming. Her reply was terse, “I know.” The elevator lifted towards the heavens and Cassie was about to meet her black god.
To learn more about the city of Black Pine and its characters, read the reference guide under the Author's Den found in the forums section.
